


hyacinth

by Luminaryquitecontrary



Category: Blaze Union
Genre: Character Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mostly taking place around the founding of Bronquia/Blaze Union, Nessiah's bad time simulator, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 21:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luminaryquitecontrary/pseuds/Luminaryquitecontrary
Summary: Truly this was the ending that you deserved.





	hyacinth

Despite everything, you never forget. Born with an insatiable urge to learn more, which turned into your life being nothing more and nothing less than a living hell.  
You offered yourself up for the sake of knowledge- and the wellbeing of your former home. But of course, things never go as planned for you.

Day one. Your body is forced to sit in what feels no less painful than boiling water. Acid. It burns into your skin and while you come out unscathed, you’re far worse for the experience.

Day five. He grabs your arms so hard that his fingers break the skin, and sink into your soft flesh. You never did grow accustomed to the pain.

Day twenty-five. You’ve stopped smiling altogether, even when the pain subsides. The relief is replaced by numbness. Breathing shakes your whole body.

Day one hundred and twenty-five. You don’t pay attention to the days anymore. Your wings have been torn up and your feathers fall out. You’re given a weapon and told to kill your unworthy would-be successor. You don’t remember its face or number.

Day six hundred and twenty-five. You’ve outlived your usefulness. Rather than killing you, they wrap you in chains and gently slam your frail body onto the cold earth of the surface world.

You stop counting the days. Somebody finds you, and you tear out your eye in exchange for knowledge (power).  
You don’t know how long has passed, you leave and bury your body still covered in chains. You find that no matter how tight the rope or how deep the gash, you never die.

Day one. You run into a group of travellers. They smile at you and invite you to join them on their journey. You accept, uncaring but appreciating the company.

Day five. You finally introduce yourself after a girl with bright red hair and an affinity for laughing off danger offers you her name. Hyantha. You commit it to memory. Names are important.

Day twenty-five. Hyantha tells you that she’s going to a distant land to obtain power. She never tells you where. You follow regardless.

Day one hundred and twenty-five. A small nation is formed by your companions. You don’t tell them that they’re worshipping a demon disguised as a dragon. (Later you find out that Hyantha already knew this.)

Day six hundred twenty-five. You smile. It’s no longer a rare occurrence, and some would say that the expression suited you better than the scowl you used to wear. You don’t know if you would agree, but you find that you’re happy for the first time in who knows how long.

Day six hundred and twenty-seven. Your memory isn’t perfect, but you never forget anything. You’ve burnt this day into the back of your mind and you remember exactly why. Regardless of how you felt about it.

You’re awoken by a scream.  
You recognize the voice. You wish you didn’t.  
Disregarding your previous polite attitude towards your companions, you find yourself breaking down a door to enter Hyantha’s room in the dead of night.

You don’t actually know if it was just one day or centuries. Muttering deliriously on the floor, convulsing violently, and spitting up blood which burnt through the carpet covered stone, she stares up at you.  
Nothing that leaves her mouth makes sense. The coherent words aren’t making sense. She’s not making any sense.  
She laughs at you and tells you that she was a fool. She wasn’t. She was one of the smartest people you knew, even if she wasn’t wise in the traditional sense.  
Her nails leave long trails of blood, you have to grab her hands to keep her from making herself bleed out.  
Looking back you would consider it a mercy if you did. You curse yourself for not doing anything- even though you know you would hate yourself for it. You hate yourself anyways though. You’re disgusted with yourself.

She tells you that she’s sorry. You don’t know why she’s apologizing.

Her hands are so hot you almost drop them, you feel your skin melt (later you look at them to find that they’re unscathed. You punch the floor a few feet from her head and you hear your bones crack.)

You don’t know how long it lasts, eventually she stops trembling. Your arms are so tight around her that you feel like you might never let go. You wish you didn’t.

You feel something rise up in your throat and release her, rolling onto your side so that whatever comes out doesn’t touch her body. It’s still so warm.  
Were you crying? Or were you sick? It was hard to tell, tears streaming down one half of your face could be from nausea or just grief.

Grief didn’t come close to describing it. You felt hatred, but you didn’t know why.  
(Now you realize that it was likely that you hated her for dying and you hated yourself for not saving her.)

After ten thousand and eight hundred seconds, somebody found you.  
Crying like a child, clinging onto shell now devoid of the warm kindness and burning passion of the only person you think you ever cared about this much.

When they pull you off of her, you fall like a ragdoll onto the ground. Somebody carries you back to your room. You only get up to lock the door and then sink to the floor and stare at the wall.

You were alone, and you thought you were ready to die. So you stumbled for the dresser which contained a surprising number of possessions, all of which were treasured gifts.

You reached for the first object you could find, it was a small since-rusted dagger. Her first gift to you.  
She apologized for not giving you a better weapon, but in the past you didn’t care. Now it was the only object in the world.  
So you shoved it into the soft flesh of your throat. It was hard to tell if it was strength or desperation which forced it in, over and over and over and over again.

You don’t forget anything. But maybe you were lying to yourself. You don’t remember dying.

You remember waking up some time later. Mindlessly wandering.

You tore out your eye and made a sword.

After some time (was it years? Or was it centuries?) you found somebody.  
He looked just like her, the same red hair, the same determined eyes.

You had built up a persona of sorts over the years, and eventually it became who you were. Sadistic. A wretched excuse for a man just like the person who cast you out.  
You even looked like him. You tried to ignore that. You couldn’t.

He had the same passion for this land that she did, and you felt somewhat warm inside thinking of her as you crossed weapons.

Maybe that’s why you chose to fight with them.  
You’re sure that’s what she would have wanted.

(Of course you were also _so sure_ that she would have wanted you to take revenge on those that had cast you out, and in some way, you were using what you had assumed would be her successor to a means to those ends. Though you would never admit it until after he had passed.)

  
After awhile, you realized the feelings of warmth he gave you had turned into something more, and you could even say that you “loved” him. Though you doubted that it was the case. (It was.)

You are wrenched from this warmth by a scream.  
The voice is different, but you know how this ended all those lifetimes ago.

You hold back a bitter laugh as you rush to locate the source, you know what will happen this time.  
This time there won’t be a tragedy. You have the power (knowledge) to prevent it.

Some people would say that any loss of life would be a sad occurrence. You disagreed.  
Gulcasa’s life had more weight than the life of anyone around him.

(You realize now that up until this moment you had mentally referred to him as “her successor” or even by her name. Maybe it’s because up until you met him, nobody had made you feel this whole.)

The rush of heat and the inhuman laugh that came from the soon-to-be emperor was enough to send you into a fit of ecstatic laugher. You barely held it back under the sly smile you always had painted onto your face. Gulcasa didn’t need to know about his predecessor. (Yet. You had wished to tell him but the rush from amending your past lack of power (knowledge) had driven you urge him on in his plan to conquer and remake the world in his childhood friend’s image.)

It was a moment to celebrate. The previous emperor was soon cut down, and with it the last two people that truly knew Gulcasa’s unworthy predecessor (one bearing his body but a different heart and name.)

You allowed yourself to indulge in the joy that you would have considered foolish, this time you knew that you could prevent tragedy.

(You thought that but when your head was clouded by a desire for revenge you never once thought about Gulcasa as he mourned your “passing” and eventually sacrificed his life for the country she formed all those years ago.)

Truly this was the ending that you deserved.


End file.
